Kansas
by MidnightHeir
Summary: Sometimes what you want isn’t always what you need. Raphael one shot


**_Kansas_**

**_Disclaimer - _**Don't own them, never will.

_"Dorothy had it easy. Stupid shoes."_

Adrenaline.

Pumping through the veins, firing off every synapse and nerve making your heart beat so loud that it positively reverberates around your skull, echoes in your ear at the consequence of drowning everything else out. The unadulterated buzz that came from speeding along the empty city streets in the middle of the night with nothing but drowsy traffic cops and the occasional Purple Dragon for company. Cracking skulls open, dodging Foot, snaring the bad guys and hearing them cry uncle when you pulled just that little bit tighter. With his eyes shut, and his breath held Raphael could almost _taste_ the adrenaline as it leaked from his adrenal gland to course through his body. Fists clenched, then released in ecstasy at the conjured image of the memory and the trapped breath was slowly released. "Wow." A small smile crept over the boy's face stretching it into the rarest of expressions for him; one of pure unadulterated joy. Basking in the moment with his head tipped back the turtle continued to reminisce, oh he had bitched and had griped about it, but there was something about that life, that itime/i which the rebel with a cause missed.

Now, he felt like he had been castrated – as if someone had walked into his bedroom uninvited and with his back turned had stalked up to him, tapped him on the shoulder and made off with his balls. An invisible invader that slipped in, pulled them out and with a short _**snip**_ stolen them away. It wasn't a feeling that he enjoyed; being boxed in. In the past he'd had enough trouble answering to his family. But three weeks yesterday Raphael had been granted everything that he had ever desired. It was as if karma had stepped on up and given the entire family a break granting them the big kahuna they had unwittingly been working their way towards for a lifetime. A wry smile stretched over his face, the sardonic expression a far more familiar mask worn by the boy. Like anythin' they'd ever come across in their crazy life there just had to be some strings attached – it was as he liked to so fondly put it, the 'turtle luck' runnin' true to form.

It was a gilded prison; a frickin' invisible cage that shrouded them all and Raph was the only one that saw it. The lights were too bright, the roof tops too far apart for him to indulge in a bout of late night roof hopping with which to soothe his fraying nerves. Everything, every single drackin' thing … pausing adrenaline surged forth, even his _frickin'_ vocabulary was getting screwed. Teeth ground in his jaw and the turtle corrected his swirling thoughts. Back home, they'd always been a government, they'd been society with its rules and its laws, restricting the way people acted and doling out punishment to those that were supposed to get it. Except people slipped through the cracks and the whole thing had ultimately been one steamin' pile of horse crap – then he and Casey would just step in. Back home, society had rejected him and his kin on principle, and that made him so _angry_. But this? Bein' told that ya had made a mistake, that were ya 'just a rebel without a cause' … Raph had always considered him self the realistic one and bein' proven wrong? Well that was a full on kick in the balls.

Oh, he'd tried the whole 'be a reed in the wind' thing. With no stinkin' shadows by the O'Neil Tech building Raphael had gone lookin' for his kicks elsewhere. Always one who knew how the streets worked it turned out that even Chelsea Cavern was too much. Sure, Raph knew how the streets worked, when ya ran in shadows and grabbed punks from behind. But that had nothin' on bein' part of the crowd. New scents, new sounds, folks bumpin' and jostlin' with each other. Brawls and fights, blood and spit, adrenaline rushed through his system and for a moment Raphael had never felt more alive. Takin' names and kickin' ass … only to get dumped into a cell for 'breachin' the peace'. In New York, _his_ New York, breakin' skulls and leavin' scum tied up in knots got him a pat on the frickin' back. What kinda Utopia _still_ had a police force that screwed up? One hundred years in the future?! And everythin' had changed except the way the cops operated. They took all the credit and none of the risks. There wasn't nothin' worse than bein' the muscle only to be told that you couldn't cut it anymore.

That was plain peachy. A real ten outta ten for the future _right_ there. Bail, a record for doin' what came to the rebel without a clue as natural as breathin', the turtle's mouth screwed up at the bitter taint of the memory. It was outta order! A drac- … it was a joke that made his blood boil. The street names were the same, New Jersey was still a dump but it wasn't home. The air was too clean, being the freak was nothin' to write home about. Even the toaster was some over complicated contraption that couldn't grill the bread, no, it … well Raphael didn't know what it did, he just knew it was more complicated than it needed to be. Life might not have been easy back home but it sure had been simple. The second he had stepped up into the real world he had lost everythin' that marked him as Raphael and anythin' he might want to do to work out the tension and the knots he got told he couldn't. Sure made a guy want to hit somethin' … and appreciate what he'd been forced to leave behind. He couldn't even mark his territory like he would back in the real New York City. Runnin' the streets like some feral beast with that half wit Casey givin' thug and Foot alike Hell. Oh, they knew where they could and couldn't go after dark … and it'd brought the sweet swell of pride and adrenaline up from his gut to his preening chest to be able to say it. It may have only been a coupla blocks, but by God, he'd _owned_ 'em. Now, he didn't even own the sai on his belt.

Sleepin' in a soft bed with reliable heatin' and a clean water supply that always delivered a hot shower 24/7 was softenin' him like frickin' hot butter. Every day he got up and his bro's just ran around, suckered by the bright lights and the new toys. Don was havin' some sort of geek-gasm with Case's spawn. For the first time in ever Leo didn't have to check round every corner for the big bad, and the less Raphael said about Mikey the better. If Don was geekin' out over some temporal spectral catalyst then Mike was practically wettin' himself over the techno wizardry crap he got to play with. Their new home was just like their interests – shiny and new and apparently better. Thing was, Raph was pretty sure he missed _that_ memo. Where was his brothers' sense of pride? Until three weeks back, they'd had to fight, beg, borrow and swipe everything they'd ever need. Now it was just handed to 'em on a plate and that wasn't any way to live. Being _kept_ like some sort of grandiose pet. Then being chased around the place by an oversized tin can with rules shouted at them left, right and centre. If Raphael was a dog then he'd imagine it would be what a puppy felt like when it was gettin' house broken. Completely frickin' degradin'. And no one cared – it made Raph's adrenal glands expand and brought a familiar pulse to his temples every time he let that stray thought cross his mind.

There was meant to be some comfort found walkin' through Cody's hall of fame and shame. Battle suits, bits of tattered old flag. Oh yea, it was a real jaunt down memory lane – really made the hothead appreciate what he had now. A look of utter disgust passed over Raphael's face as he walked through the room and towards the giant pane of glass that just sat in one side of the building giving way to a view of the cityscape. Arms foldin' he let out a held breath and watched fancy high tech vehicles go zooming through the sky – he should be in awe but that particular gem lost its shine weeks back. Now those things just served to twist the knife even deeper into the heart of the boy. He, just like the crap in the room, was a relic. An out dated, out moded relic. There was no way of attachin' any upgrades because he simply wasn't compatible with the new toys that everyone was sportin'. Bitin' down onto his lips shaded brown eyes skimmed over New York's skyline with a familiar sinkin' feelin' settlin' deep inside his soul. In the past his instincts had never done him wrong and they were shoutin' one thing loud and clear right now:

This wasn't his home, and it never would be.

_Complete_


End file.
